


Together in Paris

by wheel_pen



Series: Loose Gems [24]
Category: Original Work, The West Wing
Genre: F/M, M/M, Slavery, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 14:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3940666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josh and Donna join several world leaders from the Annalian League—and their slaves—at a conference in Paris. </p><p>More text in Chapter 1, other chapters new.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The bad words are censored; that’s just how I do things.  
> Inherent in slavery and other forms of subjugation are dubious consent, unhealthy relationships, and violence.  
> I hope you enjoy this original work/alternate universe, which was inspired by many different stories.
> 
> Visual reference (slight Ewan McGregor obsession):  
> Drakkar/Emerald: Ewan McGregor  
> Yuen/Jade: Ewan McGregor  
> Adiamante/Diamond: Ewan McGregor  
> Onyx: Jonathan Rhys Meyers  
> Duke Nicorai: Liam Neeson  
> Governor St. Claire: Ewan McGregor

            To their surprise, Josh and Donna were led away from the main tables and up to the front of the room, where lounges had been set up in groups of four to accommodate the heads of state. Apparently someone had decided Josh and Donna merited VIP treatment. The waiter indicated the one unoccupied lounge in a group, bowed again, and left.

            Five people were already arranged in the group—two of them sitting on cushions on the floor—and most of them Donna didn’t recognize, even after perusing the thin files on the League members provided by State. Fortunately the Duke of Vaalborg, whom she had met before, rose to shake hands with Josh.

            “Hello, Mr. Lyman,” he greeted in his deep, even voice.

            “Your Grace,” Josh replied with a professional smile.

            The Duke turned to the man whose lounge shared a table with Josh and Donna’s, and the younger man stood smoothly and gave them a lazy smile. “Please allow me to introduce our moderator, Governor St. Claire,” the Duke continued.

            Even though Donna had seen photos of the Governor—read what little was known of his bio, in fact—she couldn’t believe someone so young was the ruler of a country, even a small one like Nicobar. His crisp white linen suit and shoulder-length blond hair only made him look even younger than 29.

            “Governor, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Josh assured him, shaking his hand.

            “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you as well, Mr. Lyman,” the Governor replied, with a smile that sent a little shiver through Donna. Why were all these men so impossibly good-looking? “I do hope that someday, soon in fact, I have the opportunity to visit your White House.” There was a pause as Josh tried to decide how to take that—with Nicobar’s institutionalized prostitution and legal drug trafficking, the White House wasn’t sure _it_ wanted the Governor to come over for dinner. “I understand you have a very good historical tour,” St. Claire continued with a grin, pulling a smile from Josh as well.

            “And someone else I don’t believe you’ve met,” Duke Nicorai continued, turning back towards the pair of lounges he had recently vacated. His tone was just the tiniest bit sardonic as he added, “Lady Mei-Xing of Cathay.”

            A very lovely woman of East Asian descent in a beautiful, tight blue dress reclined upon her lounge and made no effort to rise. “My dear, this is Mr. Joshua Lyman, the Deputy Chief of Staff of the United States of America.”

            Lady Mei-Xing looked thoroughly unimpressed and merely nodded her head in acknowledgement and sipped at her drink. Josh gave her a slight bow—shaking hands was clearly not an option with her—and replied, “It’s an honor to finally meet you, Lady Mei-Xing.”

            “The honor is _all_ yours, I’m sure, Mr. Lyman,” she answered coolly, leaving Josh with a somewhat confused expression on his face. When Donna glanced back at the other two men, she saw them exchanging smirks.

            “Oh, don’t even bother, Mr. Lyman,” suggested the Governor good-naturedly. “Milady is convinced she needs nothing from your country.”

            “Well, I hope that someday we’ll both be able to see the benefits of working together, Milady,” Josh told her diplomatically. Cathay was such an isolated country that he’d never even seen a good picture of Lady Mei-Xing before—but the U.S. was _very_ interested in developing a friendly relationship with a country strategically sandwiched between China and Kazakhstan.

            “We heard about your little mix-up at the airport this morning,” Duke Nicorai commented, diverting Josh’s attention. “Did everything work out alright?”

            ‘Well, if by ‘alright’ you mean our luggage is somewhere in Budapest right now,” Josh replied with a smirk, “then I guess it’s fine.” The Duke and the Governor chuckled pleasantly at that. “But I wanted to thank you, Governor, for being so helpful in getting us some new clothes...”

            The Governor waved him off. “Nonsense, my dear sir. The least I could do. My assistants have been calling the airport as well, so hopefully we’ll get your bags back by tomorrow.”

            “Thank you very much,” Josh told him, then quickly inserted, “By the way, this is my assistant, Donna Moss.”

            Donna didn’t feel _too_ bad about not being introduced until now, since the opportunity really hadn’t been given to them. She noticed that the Duke seemed to tuck a smile behind his beard, as if he were enjoying a private joke; the Governor looked just slightly bemused while Lady Mei-Xing raised an eyebrow. Donna became a little flustered wondering what they were all thinking—had she done something wrong already?

            “Hello,” she said with a warm smile. “I’m pleased to meet you.” She tried to make eye contact with everyone, even the two men sitting on the floor—who had not been introduced either. The dark-haired one at the foot of the Governor’s lounge watched her with open curiosity, but the other man, leaning against the Duke’s lounge, gave her a huge smile.

            “She’s very pretty...” St. Claire offered finally. Donna didn’t know quite how to take that, but she supposed it was a compliment, even though it was directed towards Josh instead of her.

            “Oh, please, don’t let us keep you from dinner,” the Duke insisted quickly, before Josh or Donna could respond to the Governor’s comment.

            St. Claire nodded quickly and told them, “I had the staff make us some local delicacies for tonight. I don’t know what half the food is, but it’s very good.”

            Josh smiled and excused himself and Donna to go to the buffet. As she glanced back, Donna could see the heads of state staring after them, commenting briefly to one another before they went back to their seats. “Josh, do you think they were looking at me funny?” she asked quietly.

            “What? Them?” Josh sounded as if he were about to deny it, then he changed his mind. “Yeah, probably.”

            “Why?!” Donna sighed. “It’s the dress, isn’t it? It’s too casual.”

            “I _don’t_ think it’s the dress,” Josh assured her, picking up a plate at the beginning of the buffet.

**

            “Why would he introduce his lower to us?” Lady Mei-Xing asked as soon as Josh and Donna were probably out of earshot.

            “Perhaps he’s very proud of her?” suggested the Governor, tossing back some of his bright red drink. His tone indicated he wasn’t too certain of that assessment, however. “She’s the only person he brought with him...”

            “Well, I don’t see why she’s so special,” sniffed Mei-Xing disdainfully. “She’s not really _that_ pretty, after all, and apparently she can’t even be trusted to fetch his dinner.”

            Duke Nicorai settled back on his lounge with a carefully restrained smile. “Things in America are done a bit differently than we’re used to, my friends,” he reminded them. “The assistant isn’t trained to be quite as subservient as we would expect.”

            Mei-Xing shook her head. “I don’t see how they get anything done,” she decided.

**

            The buffet was so enormous Donna’s plate was full before she had seen a third of the offerings. Everything was labeled in a dozen languages—none of them English—so she had no idea what she was getting. It all looked fabulous, though—the “local delicacies,” as the Governor called them, were actually sophisticated examples of French cuisine, elaborate creations of fruit and pastry and meat and spices. Many people appeared to be coming back for seconds or even thirds and Donna often found herself going the wrong way in the line circling a table.

            Just as she was about to round a corner, a young man cut her off to grab a helping of some vegetable-and-cheese concoction. “Oh, excuse me,” Donna began, even though she felt it was really his fault. Instead of appearing apologetic, however, a sneer crossed his handsome face and he turned his back on her to get something else.

            Miffed by his rudeness, Donna watched him walk away—and nearly collide with Josh, who was also going the wrong way around a table. This time, the young blond immediately bowed deeply and said to the slightly startled Josh, “Excuse me, milord, I apologize.”

            “Uh, no problem,” Josh replied awkwardly. The blond nodded once and backed away quickly, losing himself in the crowd.

            Shaking her head, Donna continued squeezing a few more items onto her plate, then picked up a glass of lemonade and headed back to her seat. “Her seat” was something of an overstatement, as it turned out. When she returned to the group of lounges, she found Josh already seated on the plush couch—fortunately he had decided against reclining on it, as many others did, or she wouldn’t have had any room at all. It was a most bizarre seating arrangement, Donna decided, and she considered heading for the regular tables in the far corner of the room before determining that she couldn’t leave Josh to fend for himself among the world leaders. Josh at least had a table beside him; Donna was forced to balance her plate on her knees and set her drink on the marbled floor. She felt even more awkward as the Governor and Lady Mei-Xing in particular continued to give her strange looks.

            Josh was having a pleasant conversation with St. Claire, but no one (except Josh, of course) made any effort to speak to Donna and she again received odd glances when she tried to make a comment on her own. She realized, of course, that the heads of state at this particular conference were used to having very submissive servants and employees—some even kept slaves, as antiquated and inhumane as that sounded to Donna’s ears. She would have thought, however, that they would realize the United States didn’t follow such thinking. Donna had the feeling she was going to cause a culture clash before the week was over, but right now she was miserable.

            She tried to amuse herself by observing the other people in the group, but their customs were so foreign to her she often felt more than a little uncomfortable. The young man who had given her the huge smile earlier squirmed restlessly all around the Duke’s lounge, first sitting on the cushion on the floor eating off his own plate, then eagerly accepting a bit of something and a pat on the head from the Duke. It reminded Donna too much of her family dog begging at the dinner table.

            The other young man, who was barely out of his teens, was almost literally begging for scraps of attention from the Governor, but he seemed even _more_ unhappy when St. Claire gave in and ran his fingers through his short, dark hair while he conversed with Josh. Donna thought it was odd that Lady Mei-Xing didn’t have a companion as well—as she seemed to be the most imperious of the bunch especially—but then a movement underneath her lounge caught Donna’s eye. The blond dipped her head a bit awkwardly and sighed—it was the rude young man, who had wedged himself beneath the lounge and was picking at his plate, flicking unwanted items onto the floor. He glanced up and snarled at Donna and she pulled back, wide-eyed.

            Donna refocused her attention on her meal, or tried to. She felt so out of place now that she had completely lost her appetite. Suddenly she noticed the Duke’s companion scrambling across the floor in her direction. The young man paused in front of her on his knees, staring up at her with a dazzling grin. “Hi,” he began pleasantly. “Can you talk to me?”

            “Well, sure,” Donna replied, a bit startled. Her translating pendant—which fortunately had _not_ been in their luggage—appeared to be working.

            “Why aren’t you sitting on your pillow?” he continued innocently, indicating the satiny lime green cushion on the floor.

            “I, um—I’m not really dressed for it,” Donna told him uncertainly. How was she _supposed_ to respond to that?

            Fortunately he seemed to accept her answer. “Oh, okay.” He settled down cross-legged in front of her and added, “I’m Adiamante. I think I remember you. You’re from America, aren’t you? I’ve been to America with my master. He likes to take me places. I think I saw you there. Don’t you think you could sit down here so I don’t have to look up all the time?”

            Donna almost missed his question in the stream of not-unpleasant prattle. “Well, you could sit up here,” she suggested, looking around at the lounge. “There might be enough room if I—“

            “No, I couldn’t do _that_ ,” Adiamante interrupted, sounding a bit shocked. “Sit as high as my master? He’d never allow that. Especially in public.” Donna tried to insert a comment but the young man kept going. “You’re Donna, aren’t you? That’s a pretty name. My name means a kind of precious stone. It’s clear and sparkly and it’s the hardest thing on earth, harder than steel or stone or anything else.”

            “A diamond?” asked Donna.

            “No, Adiamante. Close, though,” he corrected cheerfully. “Won’t you come down here and sit?”

            Donna glanced over at Josh and found he wasn’t paying attention to her at all. So much for decorum, she thought as she moved her plate out of the way and lowered herself onto the cushion. She had to stick her legs straight out in front of her—the dress didn’t allow for much more—but otherwise it was fairly comfortable. And she avoided knocking over her lemonade, which was a good omen in her book.

            Adiamante seemed much more relaxed now. He was yet another devilishly handsome man, early 20’s, with reddish-blond hair cut very short except for a long braid hanging down over his right shoulder. The braid was adorned with various small colored beads and ribbons, and he kept playing with the end of it. His clothes were very simple and serviceable, just a plain off-white tunic and matching leggings. The Duke’s outfit was similar but dark brown and of a finer cloth.

            “Have you ever been to Paris before?” Adiamante continued happily. “I’ve never been before. It seems very pretty, at least what I’ve seen so far.”

            He stared at her expectantly until Donna finally remembered there was a question at the beginning. “No, I’ve never been here before,” she told him simply. She _thought_ she liked this young man—she only vaguely remembered him from the Duke’s visit to the White House, since she hadn’t really been around that much—but she _had_ read the brief mention of him in the Duke’s files. “You’re an entertainer, aren’t you?” she inquired politely.

            Adiamante grinned even more broadly, if that were possible. “That’s right, my job is to entertain my master. I sing, I dance, I play instruments, I tell stories—I hope I’ll have a chance to learn some more songs and stories on this trip. Nyxie promised we would go to—“

            “What am I promising, love?” The dark-haired boy had left the Governor’s side and slid to Adiamante’s, looping an arm over his shoulders. His long fringe of bangs nearly obscured his dark eyes, giving him a perpetual smolder, or maybe it was just his tight black slacks and transparent red shirt that made Donna squirm a bit.

            “Hi, Nyxie,” Adiamante greeted easily. “This is Donna, she’s the assistant to Mr. Joshua Lyman of the United States.” He glanced at Donna. “This is Onyx. He belongs to Governor St. Claire and he’s in charge of planning the activities for the lowers. What are we doing tonight?”

            “Pool party, midnight to four,” Onyx replied smartly. “Snacks and music, too. Lowers only, of course. I _do_ hope you’ll make it, darling,” he added, referring to Donna. “Assistants can have such hectic schedules at these things.”

            “Lowers?” she asked in confusion. Several things she didn’t understand had already been said, but she wanted to tackle them one at a time.

            Onyx and Adiamante stopped their playful banter and stared at her. “Lowers,” Onyx repeated more clearly, as if perhaps his enunciation had befuddled her. Given that he sounded like a crisp, polished Brit to Donna’s ears, poor diction was an unlikely culprit. Donna wondered briefly if the translating equipment automatically gave everyone some sort of British accent. The blond shook her head, still not comprehending the young man’s meaning. “Us. You and me and Adiamante and Yuen over there”—at the mention of his name, the rude man beneath Lady Mei-Xing’s lounge glared at them—“and all the rest of us.”

            “Why are you called ‘lowers’?” Donna questioned, feeling as though she were missing some important concept.

            Onyx and Adiamante shared an incredulous glance. Donna was sure she heard Yuen snort. “Well, we’re subordinate to our masters,” Adiamante explained, as if it were completely obvious. “To just about everyone, really, but ‘lowers’ is our official designation, as compared to ‘upper,’ our masters...”

            “Or mistresses, as the case may be,” Onyx added, with a pointed glance at Yuen.

            Donna felt even more awkward. “Oh, well, I don’t know if I really fit that,” she began uncomfortably. “I mean, I’m Josh’s assistant, I’m not his...” She paused, uncertain if she was breaking a rule of etiquette. “...not his slave.”

            “I’m not a slave, either,” Adiamante protested. “I’m a contract employee.” Another snort from Yuen. “Well, I am,” he insisted. “My master doesn’t own me, he just owns my time. That puts me in the ‘servant’ category here. I want to be accurate,” he added primly. “I’m still a lower, though, and so are you. Aren’t you?”

            Donna felt sure there was some mix-up, but she didn’t quite know how to explain it. “Oh, don’t worry, darling,” Onyx assured her, touching her knee, “we’re going to have _loads_ of fun. We’re going sight-seeing, and shopping, and to the ballet—“

            “We’re going to an art museum, too, right?” asked a new voice beside Donna, a familiar one with an American accent.

            She turned and gave the young man in loose green satin her first genuine smile. “Drakkar!”

            “Hi, Donna,” he replied shyly, settling in beside her. He slid a sly glance under Lady Mei-Xing’s lounge. “Hi, Yuen.” Instead of making a face, Yuen winked and crawled out from his hiding place. He didn’t join them as Donna had feared, however; he just knelt patiently in front of Lady Mei-Xing... for all of ten seconds, before he began to fidget as she continued speaking to Duke Nicorai. He sighed loudly, he rocked back on his heels, he fiddled with the mandarin collar of his purple tunic, and finally he put his fingers pleadingly on the edge of the couch.

            Donna only half-listened to the other three men talk as she strained to watch what Yuen was doing. When it looked as though he were really going to combust with impatience, Lady Mei-Xing raised one shapely eyebrow and glanced down at him. “Yes, Yuen?”

            “Mistress, may I please go speak with the other lowers?” he asked carefully.

            Mei-Xing slid her gaze over to the small gathering and Donna instinctively dropped her eyes, although she felt a bit silly afterwards. “You may,” she decided, “but behave yourself.”

            “Always, Mistress,” Yuen replied innocently, and Mei-Xing looked as though she didn’t quite believe that. “Thank you, Mistress.” Still on his knees, he backed away from the lounge until he joined the group on the floor, where he plopped down very close to Drakkar.

            “Hi, Drakkar,” he purred with a slow grin, and Donna’s eyes widened at the flirtatious tone.

            “H-hi, Yuen,” Drakkar answered, blushing a little.

            Yuen turned so that his shoulder brushed Drakkar’s. “Are you going to come see me tonight?”

            Drakkar shifted a bit nervously. “Well, I don’t know...”

            “You don’t have to,” Yuen interrupted, pulling back a bit.

            “I want to,” Drakkar insisted quickly, and Yuen scooted closer. “But I don’t know if my master will let me.”

            “Aw, I bet you could _persuade_ him,” Yuen teased, and Drakkar bit his lip and grinned.

            Donna tried to look as though she were paying attention to what Onyx and Adiamante were telling her, but in reality she was completely focused on the conversation beside her. Yuen’s voice had the rough purr of an Irish or maybe Scottish accent, and the thought of two such good-looking men “seeing each other later” was setting Donna’s imagination on fire.

            “Well, I could try,” Drakkar offered.

            “Good.”

            Adiamante’s eager voice cut into their chat. “Hey, Yuen, do you want—“

            “Shut up!” Donna’s jaw dropped at the sheer rudeness of Yuen, whom the sweet Drakkar seemed completely enamored of. Adiamante looked a bit miffed, but he sat back and resumed talking to Onyx.

            “But where will we go?” Drakkar continued.

            “We’ll find a room,” Yuen assured him.

            “Yuen, would you rather—“

            “Shut up!” This time Yuen shot the younger man a nasty glare to emphasize his point, which was that he was _not_ interested in having a conversation with anyone other than Drakkar. Donna felt badly for Adiamante, but he only frowned for a minute and then seemed to forget all about it.

            “Have you been watching the magic box in your room?” Drakkar asked casually.

            “The one with the sounds and moving pictures?” Yuen described. Drakkar nodded. “Sometimes. I don’t understand it. It makes me mad, because I can’t figure out where those people are.”

            Onyx barely suppressed a snicker. “Are you talking about the _television_?” he said sarcastically. “It’s not _magic_. Honestly, you people are so backwards.”

            Yuen narrowed his green eyes at the other man. “Not getting spanked enough, Nyxie?” he sneered.

            To Donna’s surprise, Onyx just sighed and shook his head. “No, it’s terrible! My master’s been so busy with the conference he hasn’t had time to discipline me properly. I’ve become _quite_ poorly behaved.” He added airily, “Next thing you know I’ll act just like Yuen.”

            “Maybe your master doesn’t love you anymore,” Yuen suggested nastily.

            Adiamante’s eyes when as big as saucers. “That’s a mean thing to say!”

            “Yeah, that’s why I didn’t say it to _you_ , braidboy,” Yuen snapped, “because I knew _you’d_ burst into tears.” Indeed Adiamante looked a bit misty just contemplating the idea that _anyone’s_ master didn’t love them anymore.

            The surreality of it all was starting to get to Donna. There she was, in a hotel in the middle of Paris, wearing a dress that testified to the existence of a civilized world with department stores, sitting on the floor surrounded by gorgeous men who were all apparently gay or bisexual and bound in servitude to various heads of state, discussing the problems of said servitude. It was all _just_ a touch bizarre.

            “Well, anyway, Nyxie,” Drakkar continued after a moment, “it sounds as if you’ve been working awfully hard yourself. The itinerary you set up is fabulous.”

            Onyx smiled a bit at that. “Well, thanks, love. I tried to get in a little something for everyone.” He glanced over at Yuen. “I’m afraid I wasn’t sure what _you’d_ really like, darling. Nothing seemed quite blood-thirsty enough for you.”

            “I want to go to that opera thing, _Carmen_ or whatever,” Yuen replied immediately. “The little book said someone gets stabbed.”

            He sounded so pleased by this possibility that Donna felt compelled to point out, “Um, well, someone doesn’t _really_ get stabbed... It’s just pretend.”

            Yuen turned his emerald gaze on her and Donna immediately felt as though she should have kept her mouth shut. “You think I’m some sort of idiot?” he asked, too slowly. “You think I’m a twit like Braidboy over here, who cries at his own stories?!”

            Donna backed away a bit. “No, I’m sorry, of course not,” she said hurriedly. “I only meant that—“

            Yuen was leaning closer, almost like a panther on the prowl, and Donna felt very much like a small, tasty animal. “You meant _what_?” he asked with a smile that was more like he was baring his teeth.

            “Nothing, just, uh, just—“ Donna hiccupped desperately. Rationally she supposed he wouldn’t _really_ attack her, but she was not really thinking rationally at the moment.

            Finally Drakkar gently put a hand on Yuen’s arm and he relaxed back to his seat. Donna released the breath she’d been holding and tried, weakly, to return Drakkar’s unconcerned smile.

            “Anyway,” Adiamante went on, ignoring Yuen, “I just hope everyone can make it to _something_. I’m afraid the assistants might be too busy. I was so looking forward to talking with Topazion again, but I think he has to go to all the meetings with his master.”

            “Well, that’s what happens when you make them assistants,” Yuen commented darkly, glaring straight at Donna. “They get all high and mighty, think they’re too good to sit down here with the rest of us.”

            “That’s not what I thought—“ Donna protested.

            “They do things differently in America,” Drakkar interrupted mildly. He brushed Yuen’s golden bangs out of his eyes and instantly had the other man’s attention back.

            “Well, I would _love_ to see America,” Onyx told them, resting his hand on Donna’s knee again. “But my master says they don’t _want_ him to come to America, which I can’t understand at all.” He turned towards Donna and added casually, “What do you think about that, love?”

            She hesitated before answering, unsure of the meaning behind the question. Onyx might be only a slave concerned with pleasuring his master, but Donna was the executive assistant to the Deputy Chief of Staff of the White House. She knew a lot of things that other people—like other world leaders—weren’t supposed to know, and she assumed that meant anyone who might _tell_ things to the world leaders weren’t supposed to know either. Onyx’s deep blue gaze was so innocent, though—he really _might_ just be wondering when he could see the Statue of Liberty or tour the Smithsonian.

            “Well, I guess one sort of, I guess you might say, _consideration_ —“ Donna began haltingly, only to pause in confusion when she saw everyone else’s demeanor change. The four men suddenly bowed their heads to stare at the floor, and their posture became stiff and attentive.

            “So, you guys are having your own little party down here, huh?” Josh asked from over Donna’s shoulder. She supposed, a bit sarcastically, that he’d gotten bored talking to the Governor and finally remembered her existence.

            “We’re talking about all the activities Onyx has planned for the, er, companions,” Donna explained quickly. She saw Josh glancing around the group, trying to remember who was who, and she launched into introductions. “This is Onyx, from Nicobar, and Adiamante from Vaalborg, and Yuen from Cathay, and you remember Drakkar from Lurachel?”

            “Oh, of course,” Josh assured her. “Nice to see you again, Drakkar.”

            “Yes, milord. Thank you, milord.”

            There was an awkward pause, during which Donna swore no one even breathed. “Um, so, how do you all like Paris?” Josh finally asked. His reply was a murmur of positive but monosyllabic adjectives, accompanied by “milord.” Donna looked up at him and shrugged helplessly. “So... well, it was nice to have met you,” Josh told them. “I’ll talk to you later, then.” No clear good-byes met him as he sat up and leaned back towards the Governor, who barely concealed his amusement.

            As soon as they felt Josh had stopped paying attention to them, the men relaxed again, their only comment an exchange of glances. “The activities aren’t just for companions,” Adiamante said after a moment. “They’re for slaves and servants and assistants, too.”

            “Well, I meant everyone, of course,” Donna explained. “I was just generalizing.” She couldn’t possibly use the term “lower” with Josh, not until she’d explained it already. And since she still wasn’t quite sure what it _meant_...

            “You can’t generalize by calling everyone a _companion_ ,” Yuen protested. “There three other categories that are totally different.”

            Yet again Donna was confused. “I’m not sure what you mean by ‘categories,’” she admitted.

            The others just stared at her for a moment, until Onyx finally mused, “You know, maybe she didn’t get the Lower Packet.”

            “Everyone gets that,” Yuen dismissed.

            “No, actually, they have to request it,” Onyx corrected, “and I bet her master didn’t think to.”

            “Josh isn’t my master,” Donna insisted, trying to keep her voice low. “He’s just my boss.”

            They ignored her. “If she didn’t get the Packet, she doesn’t know _anything_!” Adiamante pointed out anxiously.

            “Can that really explain it all?” Yuen asked snidely.

            “Don’t worry, dear, I will send one over to you right away,” Onyx assured her. “Then everything will make perfect sense!”

            Donna had a feeling her confusion wouldn’t be so easily removed, but she didn’t protest. She’d gotten so much paperwork related to this conference, and she’d gone through all of it, every scrap, and passed the relevant pieces on to Josh, and she certainly didn’t remember anything about “lowers” or their categories.

            “Okay,” Onyx began in an educational tone of voice, “the League officially divides lowers—that’s subservients—into four categories—“

            “Although in each country they have different groups, depending on how they do things,” Adiamante interrupted.

            Onyx shot him a reproving glance before he continued. “The categories are for statistical purposes, so the Committee on Lower Affairs can compare numbers in different countries—“

            “How do you know that?” Yuen asked, unbelieving.

            “I _read_ about it!” Onyx replied snottily. “Do you think they just print all those booklets so you’ll have something to start your fire with?”

            Donna swore she saw Yuen grin before he quickly growled, “Well, I guess _you’ve_ got time to sit around reading boring rulebooks.”

            Onyx bit his full lip for a minute and glared at Yuen, then pointedly turned away from him. “Anyway,” he went on, “there are four official categories: _slave_ , in which a person is legally owned by another. That’s like me and Yuen and Drakkar.” Donna nodded. “ _Servant_ —the person is _not_ actually owned, but their time or service is controlled by a legal contract.”

            “That’s like me!” Adiamante reminded them. “My masters owns all my time, except I get twenty-four hours off each year. In Vaalborg I’m called a contract employee.”

            “What’s the difference?” Donna asked, trying not to sound too appalled.

            Predictably, they stared at her. “What’s the difference?” Adiamante repeated in confusion.

            “I mean,” Donna clarified as calmly as she could, “what’s the difference between owning someone’s… body and just owning their time? Isn’t the effect the same?”

            Onyx, Adiamante, and Drakkar all started talking at once. “It’s totally different,” Onyx insisted.

            “You _volunteer_ to be a servant,” Adiamante explained, “or your legal guardian volunteers you. You don’t volunteer to be a slave.”

            “Well actually,” Drakkar pointed out, “I _did_ hear about this guy who sold himself into slavery—“

            “That’s stupid,” Onyx commented sharply. “If he just sold himself into servitude, he could have bought himself out later.” He turned towards Donna for emphasis. “That’s another difference—slavery is permanent, unless your master frees you, but you can buy your way out of servitude.”

            “Does that happen often?” Donna asked skeptically, and was rewarded by dubious looks.

            “Well…” admitted Adiamante, “I guess not really _that_ often. But it could!”

            “I know!” said Drakkar. “Servants can own things. They can acquire money and goods. Slaves don’t really own anything, even what their masters give them.”

            “Oh, that’s a good point,” Onyx complimented, “but I’m not really sure if that’s a practical difference, since masters can demand the return of any items given to the servant at the end of the contract—“

            “Yes, but they can keep things they acquire from other sources,” Adiamante countered, then added, “but they can only _accept_ items with their master’s permission, since it’s on _their_ time—“

            “You can’t kill a servant,” Yuen interjected coldly. Everyone turned to stare at him. “If you kill your servant, you can be held liable for his death, exactly as if he were any ordinary citizen. But you can torture your slave, you can kill him, you can hoist his body on a pole in the middle of your courtyard, and nobody can do anything about it. Because he’s your property. _That’s_ the difference.”

            Yuen turned and glanced across the room at something. Everyone was silent for a moment. Such was the cold reality of their lives, Donna realized—however kind their masters were to them, slaves like Yuen and Onyx and Drakkar knew that no one could do a thing if their owners suddenly decided to hurt or kill them. There would be no penalties, no repercussions, no consequences, no more than if you decided to smash your own television.

            “Well,” Onyx sighed, “that’s another difference. Anyway,” he continued, perking back up, “there’s also companions, who serve of their own free will with no legal binding. Like Argen over there.” He nodded at a dark-haired young man in the next group, who sat at the feet of a beautiful redheaded woman. “He gets room and board, fabulous gifts, travel to exotic places—“

            “Lots of sex,” Yuen added.

            “—and he can walk away from it at any time if ever he doesn’t like something,” Onyx finished, a bit enviously.

            “I think it sounds kind of scary,” Adiamante told them, frowning a little. “Think of all the decisions you’d have to make—should I do this, even though I don’t like it, or should I leave and give up a life of ease?”

            “I think it would get to the point,” Yuen responded coolly, “where you’d start to feel like a whore.” Even Drakkar looked shocked by _that_ comment. “I mean, I like Argen and all,” he went on, “but _we_ do what we have to do to survive, because _we_ can be punished. He does what he has to do to go to sleep at night with a full belly and satin sheets.”

            “But he does what he _wants_ to do, what he _chooses_ to do,” Drakkar pointed out softly. He glanced at the others. “None of us will ever know if we’re _really_ doing something by choice.”

            “You can’t choose to be born, and you can’t choose _not_ to die,” Yuen responded tiredly. It sounded like an old argument. “Everything else is up to you. You can _choose_ to take a punishment.”

            There was a long, melancholy silence, which Onyx finally broke by exclaiming, “What are you all being so depressing for? Think of all the fun things we get to do this week because we don’t have to be stuck in meetings all day.”

            “Unless you’re an assistant,” Adiamante reminded him.

            “Oh yes, that’s the last category,” Onyx agreed, turning to Donna. “Assistants carry out professional duties for their masters, instead of just being the entertainment. That would include people like _you_ , my dear”—nodding at Donna—“and our friends Topazion and Zafiro.”

            “Is Zafiro here yet?” Yuen asked eagerly.

            “I heard Strega Cira won’t be here until tomorrow because she has to do a festival,” Adiamante offered.

            “Looking for someone _else_ to shag, love?” Onyx snipped. “Should we all take numbers?”

            Yuen’s green eyes narrowed dangerously. “Might as well. It’ll be the only shagging you’ll get.”

            Adiamante looked quickly back at Onyx, suddenly a bit nervous about being trapped between the two of them. “Why don’t we—“

            “Shut up before I rip that braid right out of your head,” Yuen snarled.

            “Yes, you talk tough, but in my experience, that usually means you don’t have much more to offer,” Onyx taunted, eyes blazing. Donna could see Yuen’s muscles tensing, the fire ready to explode, but when she tried to say something Drakkar put his hand on her arm and shook his head. “Yes, it’s always the quiet ones who surprise you,” Onyx continued hurriedly, practically licking his lips in anticipation. “Like Drakkar. No wonder you stalk him all the time, your _mistress_ can’t give you—“

            Yuen sprang at Onyx suddenly, sending pillows flying. Drakkar had scooted out of the way, but both Donna and Adiamante found themselves in the path of Yuen’s mad scramble. He was snarling obscenities—most Donna had never even heard before—and managed to tip Onyx sideways in preparation for a true tussle.

            “Yuen!” Lady Mei-Xing’s voice echoed like a thunder crack and Yuen was yanked backwards by his collar, skidding across the floor to land in front of his mistress’s lounge. Donna jumped back up to sit next to Josh, while the other three scrambled to return to their masters for comfort.

            Hands on her hips, Lady Mei-Xing glared daggers down at Yuen, who was tugging his collar away and rubbing his throat. “I apologize for my slave’s behavior, Governor,” she ground out.

            Governor St. Claire was running a hand through Onyx’s hair to calm him—although he really didn’t look that upset, Donna thought, not even as upset as Adiamante, who was practically curled up in the Duke’s arms—and checking him over thoroughly. “No harm done, Milady,” he assured her lightly, when he saw Onyx wasn’t injured.

            “The next time I bring him out in public,” Mei-Xing continued threateningly, “I’ll put him on a leash.”

            “ _He_ started it!” Yuen protested, to everyone’s surprise.

            “I did _not_!” Onyx insisted indignantly, but St. Claire stopped petting him and used his grip on his hair to give him a shake. Donna swore she saw Yuen wink quickly at Onyx.

            “A leash _and_ a muzzle,” Mei-Xing decided firmly, while Yuen tried, not very hard, to look petulant.

            The common contained, everyone went back to their conversations—the uppers did, anyway, as the lowers were strictly confined after that. Donna was surprised to find herself thinking that a state dinner at the White House was going to seem even more boring after this one.


	2. Chapter 2

            The spring sunshine poured down on the open ground in the park and dappled the shade beneath the leafy trees that rustled in the slight breeze. The light glinted off the metal playground toys parked in mounds of woodchips, swings and slides and merry-go-rounds attesting to the family nature of the public space. No members of the public enjoyed it today, however, since it had been reserved for the exclusive use of the conference delegates. Security was high on the perimeter—guards wielding everything from machine guns to swords patrolled the edges—but inside everything was as pleasant as a gathering of world leaders could be.

            Donna held her plate of cold cuts and fruit salad carefully to avoid spilling anything on her outfit—someday she would learn to stop wearing white when she was going to eat. She was just about to scan the buffet line for Josh when she noticed people playing on the toys—adults, lowers in fact. Yuen was scrambling to the top of the jungle gym, Drakkar and Adiamante were swinging with abandon, Onyx was being pushed by Topazion on the merry-go-round. There were even two small teams facing off over a ball in what looked like some variation on football.

            Donna was transfixed just watching them, and not only because most of the men had their shirts off. They were just playing so _hard_ , with so much concentration, whether their expressions were as serious as Yuen’s or as joyful as Adiamante’s. They played as if they had never done so before and would never get to do so again, and Donna suddenly realized how true that was—most of them were slaves, or servants with few legal rights compared to employees in the United States. Those who hung back were usually assistants, caught between the worlds of professional competence and personal subservience, or companions who led lives of leisure without threat. For the others—whose daily rations depended on the whims of someone else—this free time to socialize and just play must have been very rare, Donna decided, a bit sadly.

            “Hey, Donna!” Josh’s voice broke into her reverie, which had started to grow melancholy. “Let’s go sit over there.”

            He pointed out a large circle of shade under a tree which was already occupied by Alreza Sanjou and Lady Mei-Xing—the latter of whom, Donna knew, Josh had been told to chat up at every opportunity. Lady Mei-Xing was well aware of his plot and rolled her eyes when she saw the two of them approaching.

            “Good afternoon, Milady, Alreza,” Josh said pleasantly, seating himself on the grass on the other side of Mei-Xing. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

            “I find the weather here too hot and humid,” Mei-Xing replied pointedly, taking a delicate bite of a rolled-up slice of ham.

            “Yes, the air _is_ quite heavy around here, isn’t it?” Sanjou agreed, nibbling on a croissant. “Of course I’m used to the desert. I’ll never get over seeing so much _green_ …”

            “What’s the weather like in Cathay, Lady Mei-Xing?” Josh asked leadingly. Donna could have told him it was no use—Yuen had been quite clear on his mistress’s distrust of the United States, and there wasn’t much hope she would budge.

            “Why don’t you just check your spy satellites?” she answered coolly. “If they can take pictures of my dye factories, surely they can tell you the weather.”

            “Nonsense, my dear, that would have cost an extra billion dollars for each,” Sanjou told her with a smile.

            “Well, Milady—“ Josh began to explain, but he was interrupted by the arrival of Governor St. Claire, who wandered up with his lunch in hand.

            “Hello, everyone. Enjoying the weather? It’s a bit cool and dry for me.”

            “It’s marvelous,” Mei-Xing replied with a smile that, for her, was impressively large. She patted the grass behind her. “Do join us, Governor.”

            This time it was Josh’s turn to fake a pleased smile as St. Claire sat down. If Josh was persistent in his pursuit of Mei-Xing, the Governor was equally persistent in his pursuit of Josh—and Lady Mei-Xing was not above using that to her advantage.

            “I know it’s too humid for you, darling,” St. Claire assured her with a smile. “Perhaps next time we should have it in America, in those southwestern states. I understand they have desert in them.”

            “Well, they do,” Josh agreed hesitantly, unwilling to give St. Claire any encouragement, “but I think—“

            “Yowwwww!” Yuen seemed to tumble out of nowhere, throwing himself on the grass beside his mistress with a grin.

            “Goodness,” she exclaimed. “You’ve been playing hard, haven’t you?”

            Yuen’s loose tunic had disappeared somewhere, leaving him only his satiny trousers and sandals, but Donna decided he had the body to pull it off. Her mouth went a little dry, staring at the pale skin over his muscles, lightly sheened with sweat—and rippling as he caught his breath. Maybe she should get her _own_ harem boy someday, she thought, forcing her gaze away.

            “You’ve been fed, pet?” Yuen nodded and stretched out on his stomach, leaning against her legs. “Thirsty?”

            “Yes, Mistress.”

            Mei-Xing picked up her unopened can of soda. “Here, try some of this,” she suggested, glancing at it dubiously. She examined the can from several angles and poked at the top until Donna realized she didn’t know how to open it. Josh and St. Claire both immediately offered their assistance, but the Governor won and cracked open the seal for her. Receiving the opened can back, she passed it on to Yuen, who sniffed at it uncertainly.


	3. Chapter 3

            Lady Mei-Xing had followed Duke Nicorai outside to the front of the hotel, and Josh had followed her, and Governor St. Claire had followed _him_ , until they were all clustered together under the blazing Parisian sun with only Mei-Xing’s silk parasol for shade. Donna felt a little foolish chasing after the Lady of Cathay all the time when she obviously wasn’t interested in an American alliance, but Josh had his orders, she supposed. To be honest she found herself more interested in the little game Yuen, Adiamante, and Onyx had set to playing, crouched on a corner of the sidewalk. It seemed to involve a piece of string and some beads, and it moved very quickly, but she hadn’t quite figured out the rules yet.

            After a moment Donna noticed another small crowd of people drifting out from the hotel, all of whom were dressed in similar but not identical suits—and many of them seemed to be carrying cameras as well. “Uh-oh,” Governor St. Claire commented, tossing his cigarette into the ashtray quickly. “It’s the Onnalichtian press corps.”

            “The press?” Josh repeated, looking them over. “I didn’t realize anyone was covering this.” A few half-hearted French journalists had been around on the first day, but no one else seemed very interested, which was novel.

            “No one from _outside_ the League,” the Governor clarified, “but wherever King Emil goes, so do the reporters from his country. If they catch me smoking, tourism in Nicobar will go down twenty percent. They’re absolutely rabid.”

            “King Emil…?” Josh said cluelessly.

            “I suppose you haven’t heard of Onnalicht,” Mei-Xing surmised, a bit condescendingly. Donna got the impression that _this_ time, at least, her disdain was for the subject more than for Josh. “Or King Emil, the playboy of Europe?”

            “And one of your most important trading partners, aren’t they, my dear?” Duke Nicorai reminded her gently.

            “I suppose they _do_ buy quite a lot of dye, for their size,” she allowed. “But the only thing of any value they export is money. All their films and music are absolute dreck.”

            “Well, their money’s enough for _me_ ,” St. Claire added cheerfully.

            At that moment an absurdly long limousine pulled up to the hotel and the journalists rushed into action, snapping madly away with their cameras. The door opened and a beautiful blond woman in a delicate, ruffled yellow dress stepped out, much to the delight of the crowd.

            Mei-Xing made a dismissive noise. “Not _another_ one of them,” she commented. “What do they call them? It’s some kind of bird.”

            “Doves,” Nicorai supplied with an amused smile.

            The woman was followed by a young man, mid-20ish, with deep brown eyes and a natty navy blue pinstriped suit. The reporters were all clamoring at them in what must have been the Onnalictian language; but apparently the King and the young woman were already wearing their translation devices, because their answers were English to Donna’s ears.

            “It’s Bruno Ragnvald, of course,” the King laughed smoothly, indicating his suit. “It’s the _only_ thing to travel in. And you remember the cufflinks, don’t you? Antique Aimerian, belonged to my late grandfather.”

            “Hilda Van Lunt,” the girl replied in response to likely the same question about her clothes. She seemed a bit shy, with all the cameras flashing at her, and the King cheerfully held her hand out to the crowd.

            “Aren’t these lovely on her?” he asked with a laugh, indicating her rings. “Cartier, it’s a local designer. We just picked them up this morning. Do you think I should buy them for her?” The crowd made some sort of approving noise, the girl blushed, the King laughed, and Lady Mei-Xing rolled her eyes. Donna thought he seemed no worse than a typical American movie star; in fact she thought he was rather charming, not to mention good-looking. But she had to admit that he didn’t quite fit the demeanor of the other world leaders here. Maybe that was a good sign, she thought hopefully—perhaps despite his title of “king” there _was_ some public approval involved in his leadership, so that unlike all the other Annalian League rulers he actually needed good PR.


End file.
